


A Time for Ashes

by WolfAndHound_Archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Second War with Voldemort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-05
Updated: 2016-02-05
Packaged: 2018-05-18 09:54:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5924074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WolfAndHound_Archivist/pseuds/WolfAndHound_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sirius finally lets go of Azkaban.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Time for Ashes

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Lassenia, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Wolf and Hound](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Wolf_and_Hound), which was created to make stories posted to the Sirius_Black_and_Remus_Lupin Yahoo! mailing list easier to find. However, even though I still love the fandom, I am no longer active in it and do not have the time to maintain it. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in December 2015. I posted an announcement with Open Doors, but we may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on the [Wolf and Hound collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/wolfandhound/profile).

Sirius Black slowly rose to his feet, brushing dirt from his elegantly strong hands in an ineffectual effort to clean up. His skin was several shades darker than normal because of the layers of grime ground into the creases of his flesh. His fingernails were black-edged, caked underneath with the rich soil. The knees of his jeans were encrusted with more of the moist garden residue. Stray bits of twigs and dried grass clung to his hair. He didn’t give a damn. Messiness in pursuit of gardening perfection was quite acceptable in his view.

Turning slightly, his storm-tossed eyes traveled over the contours of the garden beds. Already some brave shoots had broken through the soil to start a fresh year of growth. The stark, naked outlines of branches were softened and blurred with the first faint greenish smudge of new leaves. Everything seemed poised, as if gathering a deep breath, waiting for that one bright sunny day to explode, drunk on warmth, tipsy with flowing sap. 

Sirius arched and stretched, seeking relief from the twinges in his lower back. He had worked hard the Muggle way, using no magic to aid him in his gardening. He had cleared dead growth, flung the occasional gnome off the property, planted bulbs, trimmed shrubs and prepared the kitchen beds for seeds and young plants. The detritus of winter was gone and everything looked neat and tended. ‘Remus will be pleased,’ he thought with a smile.

Another season had passed and spring was upon them once more. This time, though, he was ready for it. That hadn’t been true for a long time. The last few years had flown by. Caught up as they had been with the war, there had not always been time to tend to domestic needs. Time. The one thing always in short supply. The one intangible that Sirius regretted losing. They had lost so much time together over the years. 

But, now, Voldemort was dead. Harry Potter was married and an expectant father. Remus Lupin was a respected author. His book “On the Nature of Werewolves” was a rousing success. Carefully and thoroughly researched, it was scholarly enough to be used as a textbook, yet written in such an engaging and witty style that it held great popular appeal. In fact, Remus now found himself in some demand as a speaker and lecturer about werewolves. His contributions in the war had not gone unnoticed, either, and with Fudge and his ilk gone from the Ministry, more progressive types now ran the government. There was a groundswell of public support for abolishing many of the restrictive laws that governed werewolves. Remus ably assisted these friends and acquaintances in their efforts.

Sirius sighed, using his wand to gather all the dead material from the gardens into a large pile in preparation for burning. He often had a disquieting sense that everyone around him had moved on with their lives, while he drifted in some sort of limbo. He had no real job. He’d had offers, but he couldn’t bring himself to accept them. Sirius sometimes felt ashamed of himself, thinking he squandered his talents and abilities. 

No, Sirius hadn’t had a steady job since his days as an Auror twenty-some years ago. Not that he needed one. Neither of them did, really. They could live quite handsomely on the Black inheritance. But, Remus wanted and needed to contribute his share to their living arrangements, so he had thrown himself wholeheartedly into his writing. And it had opened a number of doors for him. That made them both happy. On the other hand, the inheritance provided Sirius with a perfectly good excuse to avoid committing himself to any long-term projects. He occasionally taught short, but strenuous courses in dueling and Advanced Transfiguration at Hogwarts as a visiting instructor. Several departments at the Ministry of Magic hired him as a consultant and tried unsuccessfully to convince him to join them full-time. The Aurors, the Magical Law Enforcement Squad, the Department of Mysteries, all of them had dangled all sorts of enticements to try to lure him into their ranks.

He just couldn’t do it. Not now. Especially not now, when Remus’ work was so unstructured. The thought of being cooped up in an office, day in and day out, when Remus spent much of his time at home or on short trips to do research, was anathema. They had already lost years out of their lives. Sirius swore he’d not squander a minute more than he had to away from Remus. Many times he had confessed to Remus over dinner or as they sat quietly in front of the fire in the evening that he had turned down yet another handsome offer of employment. To his credit, he always considered these offers carefully. But, no matter the guilt he felt about refusing, he always said “No.” 

The truth was that Sirius no longer felt comfortable within his own society. Ever since Azkaban, he had felt disconnected from others, separated from people. It was as if he no longer completely understood the common language. This hadn’t been so obvious during the war years, when they had had all they could handle leaping from crisis to crisis in the struggle. There had been no time to re-assimilate, no chance to gather up all the broken threads of his life and weave them back together. Now he felt like it was too late to recover. He felt more Muggle than Wizard sometimes. He, Sirius Black, instigator of a thousand pranks, the charming rogue who could talk anyone into anything, the bright, vibrant man who had always been in the thick of the action was now more comfortable in the shadows. 

To his combined distress and annoyance, he’d become something of a cult figure. A larger-than-life symbol of perseverance and courage, but, also of danger and darkness. People admired him, and at the same time, he often sensed their underlying fear. Sirius didn’t really like walking through life frightening people but the thought of how much time and energy he would have to expend to overcome their fears only served to depress him. It was easier to avoid it.

His thoughts turned to Remus, and he felt centered again. Remus, who was due to return home today after spending several days in Edinburgh. Sirius paused in his work, pondering a recent conversation in which Remus had shared an insight as to why Sirius now pursued his life in this rather unorthodox way. They had just made love and were lying tangled together in warm, sated afterglow. Sirius’ fingertips had softly caressed the planes of Remus’ back. Remus’ hand had wandered lazily along Sirius’ shoulder to slide up the back of his neck and play with his hair. Sirius mentioned refusing a very generous offer from the Office of Muggle Apparatus Adaptation. And then had immediately apologized. “I’m sorry, Remus. I don’t know why I can’t bring myself to settle on anything. I must disappoint you…that I’m so self-centered about this…”

Remus had softly snorted in mild exasperation. “You’ve nothing to apologize for, love. There is nothing wrong with not becoming a Ministry drone. You don’t owe them anything.” He had nuzzled along Sirius’ cheek to place a comforting kiss full on his mate’s mouth. Remus then said, “It would be worse to agree to accept one of these offers out of some sort of feeling of obligation, and then do a bad job because of the rules you’d be forced to follow. You hate boundaries and restrictions, you know.”

It was true, although Sirius had never fully appreciated it before. He had always hated feeling constrained by rules and procedures, especially if they made no sense to him. As a child, he had fought back with pranks and plots. Harmless enough, most of the time, but certainly he had set a pattern for himself. Testing the rules, pushing to see how far out of bounds he could go before he was pulled, kicking and screaming, back inside. And that pattern was set in stone in the years spent physically, mentally and emotionally confined by prison. He simply couldn’t bear to be trapped. By rules, by the four walls of a small office, by people standing too close to him. 

And, still, he felt that flicker of guilt. Was he simply indulging himself, and using time with Remus as an excuse? Frowning, Sirius ran a filthy hand through his hair, leaving a smudge of grime on his temple. No, he was not giving in to guilt. He’d wasted too much energy and anxiety over the years wading through feelings of guilt. 

His mind jumped back to their post-coital conversation. Something else Remus had whispered in the dark came to him with a sudden clarity that was brilliant as diamonds. “You keep beating yourself up because you think you should be able to leave Azkaban in the past. I think you’re too hard on yourself.”

“I don’t want to spend the rest of my life wallowing in self-pity about prison. Every one of us has been damaged in some way and I should be able to deal with it better than I’ve done so far.“

“But, you **are** dealing with it. You just can’t see it. You think that you should be able to simply move on and leave that horror, and all it did to you, behind. That you should be the same person you were twenty years ago. It doesn’t work like that, Sirius. This damage is not a simple cut that scabs and heals and disappears. Prison was a life-changing ordeal. It will always be part of you, just as lycanthropy will always be part of me. You have to find the way to recognize those changes and integrate those feelings into who you are now.”

For Sirius, the deepest hurts, the most painful memories he clutched to himself, locked inside the furthest reaches of his heart. He shared them with no one, not even his lover. Remus’ words, laden with tenderness and love, had nearly undone him. Uncharacteristically, he gave voice to some of the darkness that existed within him. “Part of me died, Remus. It’s blasted and broken and it’s never coming back.”

Remus’ arms tightened around him, protecting, comforting. “I know, my husband. But part of you is stronger and brighter and more indomitable than ever. So, mourn what you’ve lost, but recognize and honor what you still have. What you still are. Azkaban changed you, but it didn’t defeat you or lessen you.”

Sirius finished piling his scraps and bits together. He tossed on some kindling to help with the burning. If only he could toss the remnants of his long-carried guilt onto this pyre. The guilt of how one bad decision, **his** decision, had caused tragedy and pain and death to so many others. He needed to be brave enough to finally let it go. 

He bent to set the garden garbage alight. And then froze, his mind racing. What better time to break those shackles once and for all? Why not now, when the world had finally spun out of the shadows and back into the light? When signs of renewal and revival were all around him? When he and Remus would shortly welcome a new life into being, the one Sirius already referred to as their grandchild? Why not now?

Sirius suddenly bolted into the house, bounding up the stairs two at a time. He burst into their bedroom. Flinging open the closet doors, he burrowed towards the darkest corner. Finding the rough, worn robes, he ripped them from the hanger and dashed back outside. 

Moments later, Remus arrived home by Floo Powder and saw Sirius standing outside by his small bonfire, watching the flames rise and strengthen. In his hands he held shabby, ragged robes. Prison robes. Azkaban robes. The dark and brooding symbol of all that had gone wrong, all the hurt and waste for which he blamed himself. This was an interesting development, Remus mused. He slowly walked outside, uncertain of Sirius’ mood. His pale-eyed lover smiled a strained but determined smile. 

“I’m done with this, Moony,” he said, his hands raising the robes slightly. “I’m done with it. It’s over.” Then he dropped them on the flames. 

Remus came to stand by his mate, sliding his arms around Sirius and kissing him gently on the cheek. They silently watched the robes flare into golden flames and then shrivel and fall, fading to smoldering gray ash.

As the last shreds of cloth vanished into smoke and fire, Remus hugged Sirius tight. “What brought this on?”

Sirius’ eyes didn’t meet his gaze, but instead swept across the land. “The garden. The new growth. The imminent birth of our grandchild. Death and rebirth, Moony. I’m banishing these nightmares once and for all.”

They stood in a loose embrace and watched the flames slowly flicker and die. Sirius heaved a final sigh and finally turned a quizzical face to Remus. “I’m afraid I’ll never have a normal career, Moony. I’ll never have a calling in life. I’m a dabbler, a dilettante.”

It was an unexpected jump in subject, but Remus was well acquainted with the limber leaping of the Black mind from one topic to another. “Well, you’re certainly an attractive dilettante, if a bit messy at the moment.” Remus pulled some twigs out of the uncombed black hair and attempted to brush away the dirt on Sirius’ face. Leaning back, he eyed the smudged knees of Sirius’ jeans. “I suggest you go in and clean up. I’ve brought home several bottles of a rather nice Chateauneuf du Pape.”

An affectionate smile spread across Sirius’ face. “A perfect accompaniment with dinner. Thank you, Remus.”

“And dinner would be…?” Remus’ sinuous brows curved inquisitively.

“Lamb stew with spring vegetables.”

“Mmmm. I don’t suppose you went to London to get any of these vegetables?”

“As a matter of fact, I did.” Sirius eyed Remus knowingly. “And, yes, I stopped at Fortescue’s for a selection of ice cream.”

Remus beamed. 

~ **~** ~ **~** ~ **~** ~*~ 

Sirius lay back in the warm water, feeling the tight muscles in his lower back gradually relax. He was squeaky clean, drifting in a comfortable languor. He had drained the tub once, and then filled it for a nice, long soak. He heard movement in the bedroom. Remus, undoubtedly unpacking and putting away his suitcase in his typically neat way. 

Footsteps approached. Sirius opened his eyes to a vision of a completely naked and very alluring werewolf standing next to the tub. A spark of arousal flashed in the gray eyes as they traveled slowly up the firmly muscled body to meet their match in lively hazel.

“May I join you or are you almost done par-boiling yourself?” 

Sirius smiled wickedly and extended a hand. “You know how I love the feel of your flesh against mine in this warm, wet bed.”

Heat, sudden and powerful, flooded Remus’ groin at the insinuating purr of that voice. He grasped Sirius’ hand and stepped into the bath, gracefully sinking into the water and sinuously twisting himself against and around the willing body awaiting him. Remus slowly slid his parted lips along Sirius’ shoulder. His tongue flicked out, tasting the clean droplets that clung to his lover’s skin and trickled into the notch at the base of his throat. A contented rumble percolated from deep within Sirius’ chest as his head tipped back, exposing his neck to Moony’s teasing teeth. Delicately, Remus nibbled a trail like little steps up the smooth column, climbing over the ridge of jaw until his lips finally found rest against their warm, inviting twins. 

Remus hated being apart from Sirius, but he delighted in the piquancy it lent to their reunions. Sometimes they flew together, tearing every stitch of clothing from each other’s body in a frenzy of heated lust. And sometimes, like today, the dance was more measured, filled with a patient hunger that rose slowly but powerfully from their depths. Remus shifted slightly, wanting to feel the curtains of water flow between them in invisible drifts of silky waves. He gasped, pulling away from Sirius’ mouth in response to the hand that had wrapped around his hardening cock.

Sirius pulled him closer, fusing their mouths together in a kiss that was deep and holy. It was a sacrament, a communion. Remus moaned into Sirius, his sweet breath like a cloud of fire filling Sirius’ lungs, his hands clutching at hip and waist and shoulder, wanting skin and bone and muscle hard against him.

And the hand curved around his rigid shaft grasped and slowly pumped up and down. Palm and fingers such a knowing, perfect fit for him. His hips pushed into the hand, feeling the pads of each finger playing against his flesh. “Mmmmm…Siriussss…” he breathed.

Bracing his free hand against the bottom of the tub, Sirius twisted out from under Remus. Guiding the still-moaning werewolf back against the porcelain, Sirius straddled him. Water ran in joyful rivulets down the sleek lines of his body, followed by Remus’ caressing hands. His eyes alive with the light of midnight sun, his voice husky with passion, Sirius murmured, “Want you inside me…”

Slowly, infinitesimally slowly he sank onto Remus’ cock, gradually impaling himself, feeling his own flesh open, inch by inch, to the throbbing hardness. Remus clenched his teeth in his effort to stay still and allow his lover to adjust to him, when all he wanted now was to thrust high and hard into that smooth, hot, silken channel. With his breath coming faster, Sirius stared into the depths of his husband’s hazel eyes, eyes that rivaled the bonfire in their heat and intensity. He rose up slightly, his internal muscles squeezing tight around Remus’ cock. He eased into a slow, deep rhythm, riding his lover in a liquid undulation.

Remus hands swept over every curve and angle of the beautiful body above him. One hand finally settled firmly around the powerful erection between them. Rampant, and red from lust and the heat of the water and the fire of their reunion, it quivered against Remus’ palm. Their pace quickened. Remus’ free hand caught Sirius around the back of his neck and pulled him down to feed on his lips, his tongue, his mouth. Thrusting together, they felt the rising tide boiling up inside each other until, with a final, breath-stealing cry, they came. 

And, again, they settled together, flesh entwined around flesh, and conversed through slow, deep kisses until the water got too cold.

A while later, the toothsome aroma of a flavorful stew filled the kitchen. Remus poured the wine while Sirius served dinner. Outside a fresh spring breeze had blown up. It brought the scents of the earth’s rebirth with it, the perfume of rain and fresh grass and fertile soil. It scattered the last traces of winter and drove the ashes away.


End file.
